I see demons on the ceilings-
They crawl down the steps and up the pew to preach-
I see sheep in the pasture-
and if he tells them to jump they will fly from the rock and kiss the ocean-

The paint on this white castle is chipping; people are leaving; the walls are bleeding; the frame is screaming; the holy water is murky-
I see corruption in this everlasting system-

Tempests are the people in the storm of the mind.
The Sunday christian-
Even the blue hairs who sit front row with one ear forward-
It's all the same-
Purity for you; purity for me; but there's no purity that i can see,
All these transformations-
Side conversations-
Long skirts and pint up hair-
if you don't abide you better beware, because i- am- sin-eater-
and i am praying for absolution.
I am a denizen in this holy realm of dissipating life, my dissipating faith is too revelatory to ignore; to reconcile.

I see his shadow in unlikely places.
So watch for false prophets they come in sheep's clothing but inward they are ferocious.